


the world has somehow shifted

by thesunandthestars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mutual Pining (eventually), Strangers to Lovers, Tangled AU, because these crazy kids would fall in love in any universe, so basically this is a bughead love story feat. hot dog the sheepdog and 70 feet of magic hair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunandthestars/pseuds/thesunandthestars
Summary: The lights appear every year on her birthday.Every year, she tiptoes out of bed, past her mother’s room, to lean on the windowsill and watch, enraptured, as the lights rise into the sky. Every year, the experience takes up entire pages in her journal, her neat cursive sprawling across the paper as she jots down adjective after adjective to describe the display. Luminescent. Effulgent. Radiant. Absolutely, positively breathtaking.Every year, she watches from the window, because not once in almost eighteen years has Betty left her tower.— —A cheerful, sheltered girl with a dream. A sarcastic, jaded thief on the mission of a lifetime. When their paths cross, nothing will ever be the same.[A Bughead Tangled AU.]
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34
Collections: Riverdale Bingo 2021





	the world has somehow shifted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Below is the obligatory rant about how long this fic has taken to write and how excited I am for you to read it, so skip ahead if you feel so inclined.
> 
> This fic has been a long time coming (or at least, what feels like a really long time). I committed to the idea about two months into quarantine, got super excited and wrote a decent amount, and then got distracted by stuff and COVID life in general and didn’t put much more work into this fic until a few months ago. Here it finally is, as a present from me to you on my birthday! (Lol.) I’ve been working hard and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
> 
> The current plan for this fic is five chapters. I have the first two written and the third one in production, and as of now it looks like five chapters is a reasonable goal. But I do tend to be wordy, so we’ll see what happens.
> 
> Endless thanks to @bettycooper for being a wonderfully patient beta and for leaving me lots of nice comments. I’m so glad I was able to snag someone who loves Disney (almost) as much as I do. ;)
> 
> The title is, of course, from I See The Light, which I personally think is one of the absolute best Disney love songs.
> 
> Alright, without further ado, here is my Tangled AU! <3

The lights appear every year on her birthday. 

Every year, she tiptoes out of bed, past her mother’s room, to lean on the windowsill and watch, enraptured, as the lights rise into the sky. Every year, the experience takes up entire pages in her journal, her neat cursive sprawling across the paper as she jots down adjective after adjective to describe the display. Luminescent. Effulgent. Radiant. Absolutely, positively breathtaking. 

The lights fill the darkening sky with a fiery glow just as they do her heart, and she longs to see them up close, to travel into the great unknown until she knows exactly what they are.

The years go by, one journal after another is filled, and she grows more and more curious about the floating lights. Every year, she tells herself, next year. Next year, I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask Mother if she’ll take me to see the lights. And every year, she watches them rise and fall from the window, wishing more than anything that she was out there with them, close enough to touch.

Every year, she watches from the window, because not once in almost eighteen years has Betty left her tower.

————

_Our story begins with the sun._

_Long ago, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens, and from this small drop grew a magic golden flower with the ability to heal the sick and injured._

_One day, an old woman came across the flower. She had been searching for it and its magic for years, hoping to become young once more. When she sang a special little song, the flower granted her her youth, but only for a short time. The woman returned to the flower again and again for centuries, singing to it to regain her youth, and every time she left, she would hide the flower under a basket made from leaves so that no one else could ever find it and take its power from her._

_Meanwhile, across the water, there grew a kingdom, ruled by a beloved king and queen. The queen was pregnant, but she soon became very ill. She was running out of time, so the kingdom began to search for a miracle—or in this case, a magic golden flower._

_When the royal guards discovered the flower hidden on a ledge on the mainland, the kingdom rejoiced. They brought the flower back to their queen, who drank a potion made from its petals, and the magic healed her. A healthy baby girl was born, and her doting parents named her Elizabeth._

_But not everyone shared their joy._

_The old woman, Penelope, had seen the guards dig up the flower, and she would do anything to take back its extraordinary power. So one night, when the whole kingdom was asleep, Penelope broke into the nursery and stole the little princess. By the time the baby’s cries awoke the royal couple, the old woman had just disappeared into the night with a bundle of rosy skin and soft golden locks tucked into her arms._

_The kingdom searched and searched for the missing princess, but they could not find her. For deep within the forest, tucked away in a hidden tower, Penelope raised the child as her own. The young princess had inherited the flower’s magic, so every time Penelope sang and brushed Elizabeth’s hair, Penelope’s wrinkles and gray hair faded away and she became young once more._

_Penelope had found her new magic flower, but this time, she was determined to keep it hidden. She told Elizabeth stories of the outside world, painting a picture of darkness and danger to prevent the curious young girl from trying to leave._

_But the walls of that tower could not hide everything._

_Each year, on the princess’s birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky, in hope that one day, she would return. And, as it turned out, the lanterns were exactly what brought the lost princess home._

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

**chapter one: the dream**

_Mother will be returning tomorrow morning. It’s not uncommon for her to leave for a day or two for food and supplies, and I especially love it when she brings me a new journal. I’ll be needing one soon; this one’s almost out of pages._

_Mother seems to spend more time away than here at home, but that’s okay. I like it here, in the tower. It’s safe and warm, and I have Caramel to keep me company. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like—_

Betty scratches out her last sentence, thick charcoal lines hiding her admission. She shuts her journal with a sigh, hand coming to rest on Caramel’s soft body instinctively. Caramel shifts at the feeling, curling further against Betty’s thigh, and gives a satisfied purr.

The midday sun is beaming down, showering Betty and her surroundings in warmth. This is her favorite spot: leaning back against the window frame with her legs dangling over the narrow balcony and her long locks blowing gently in the breeze. From here, she can look out at the vivid green grass, the little bursts of flowers, and the stream that runs alongside her tower.

She’s been staring out at this view for eighteen years, and yes, it’s a gorgeous view, but Betty _knows_ there’s more out there than this. She wants to explore, wants to see what the world has to offer. There’s only so much she can do inside her tower, only so much room on her bookshelves for tales of things she’ll never experience.

Her tower offers a lot—warmth, comfort, safety. She has rows upon rows of books to read and endless hobbies to pursue. But there’s little room for variety. Every day, she wakes up in the same four-poster bed, does the same chores, makes the same crafts, and reads the same books. Every day, her journal is filled with her experiments in baking and her observations of the constellations, but not once has she written about people or music or dancing or any of the other things she’s only ever read about or seen in her dreams.

And the lights. Oh, how she longs to see them up close. They appear every year on her birthday, floating high above her tower, and every single time, Betty’s heart tugs like there’s an invisible string tying her to them, like they’re meant for _her_. Out of all three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, they appear only on her birthday, arching across the sky in a magnificent, resplendent, heavenly display. And yet, every year, they’re just out of reach. 

How can the life she’s living be any kind of life at all if she’s _here?_ Trapped, sheltered, where her dreams can never become reality?

As if sensing her dilemma, Caramel stirs and stretches, bumping her body against Betty’s side. She peers up at Betty, her blue eyes wide, and spins slowly several times, paws kneading into the wood below them. She settles again after a moment, front paws resting on the edge of the balcony and gaze trained on the opening at the bottom of the hulking rock wall. 

“I know,” Betty murmurs, stroking Caramel’s orange fur, “but we’re safe here. Remember what Mother always says? The outside world is dangerous. Here, we’re safe.”

But the words do little to quench the desire blossoming in her heart. She flips open her journal once more, to the very last page, a place she hopes Mother will never think to look. With a deep, steadying breath, Betty picks up her pencil. 

_Sometimes I wonder,_ she writes, _when will my life begin?_

—

“This is it, Caramel,” Betty says excitedly, placing the last of the clean dishes on the shelf above the sink and scooping up her furry friend. “I’m finally going to ask her!”

She’d woken this morning with a sense of anticipation, heart pounding with excitement, and she’d known immediately that this is it. Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday. Tomorrow, the lights will rise in the sky like they do every year, and _today_ , she’s finally going to ask Mother to take her to see them. 

“I can’t believe it!” She twirls around the room, laughter bubbling up in her throat. “This is so exciting!” 

Caramel meows in agreement, by now very used to being swung about like this, and burrows further into Betty’s arms. “Oh, what will I wear? I’ll need to pick out my best dress…oh! What if Mother buys me a new one for my birthday! That would be—”

A faint voice from outside cuts into her thoughts. “Elizabeth! Let down your hair, will you?”

Betty gasps, spinning on her heel. “Coming, Mother!” Letting Caramel leap out of her arms, she darts toward the window and throws her long mass of hair over a hook in the overhang, lowering it down slowly along the edge of the tower. Once Mother is safely roped in at the bottom, Betty tugs at the long golden locks, hauling her mother up to the window. 

Penelope brushes past her daughter, heading for the floor-length mirror that’s leaning against the wall and smoothing her fiery red locks, now flecked with silver. “Remember what I’ve told you, Elizabeth? You’ve gotten lazy with the pulling. You mustn’t make me wait all day.”

“Of course, Mother. I apologize.” The comment stings—Mother never seems to be satisfied with her—but Betty refuses to let it get to her. She knows her mother loves her. She’s only harsh because she cares. “I wanted to ask you—”

Penelope sighs. “Elizabeth, please. I’ve just arrived, and I would appreciate some peace and quiet. You’re always so noisy.” She appraises her reflection, tilting her chin upwards.

“But Mother, it’s important,” Betty pleads. “Tomorrow is—”

“Elizabeth!” Penelope rounds on her, mouth curved in annoyance. “You’re such a nuisance.” She huffs. “Sing for me first, and then you may talk.”

“Oh!” Good. She can do that. Betty rushes around the room, pulling Mother’s favorite chair up for her and grabbing the hairbrush from the washroom. Plopping down on a low stool, Betty gathers her hair, shoving both it and the brush into Penelope’s lap and reciting the incantation her mother taught her as fast as she can.

“ _Flower, gleam and glow_ ,” she sings, the words blurring together, “ _let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine_.”

“Elizabeth!” her mother scolds, startled by her haste. “You cannot—”

This time, Betty doesn’t let her finish the reprimand. “So, as I was saying, tomorrow is a very big day. It’s my birthday!”

“It is?” Penelope raises a faux-skeptical eyebrow at her grinning daughter. “I distinctly remember your birthday was last year.”

“Birthdays are kind of an annual thing, Mother.” Betty rolls her eyes amusedly. “Anyway, what I really want for this birthday…” She shrugs, voice dropping. “Well, what I’ve wanted for quite a few birthdays now—”

“Speak up, Elizabeth!” Penelope holds up a hand to stop her. “You know how I loathe mumbling. No one can understand you when you mumble.”

 _There’s no one else here_ to _understand me_. “Sorry Mother. I just…” Evidently bored, Penelope stands and makes to walk away. _Here goes._ “I want to see the floating lights!” Betty blurts.

Penelope blinks, shocked. “The what?”

“The floating lights,” Betty repeats, wringing her hands nervously between her. “The…the ones that appear in the sky on my birthday.”

It’s another beat before her mother responds. Dozens of emotions flash across her face, most of them unreadable. “Oh. You must mean the stars.”

Betty shakes her head vehemently. “That’s the thing. I’ve charted stars in my journal—I’ve got pages of notes about them—and they’re always constant. But _these_ ”—she flips through her notebook lying on the table behind her until she finds one of the few sketches of the lights that she’s attempted—“they appear every year on my birthday, Mother. _Only_ on my birthday.” With every word, she can feel a glow, much like that of the lights, filling her insides with hope. “And I can’t help but feel like…they’re meant for _me_.”

Penelope’s eyes narrow. “That’s absurd.” 

It’s not an outright refusal, which gives Betty a sliver of hope. “Please! It’s what I want, more than anything. I’m turning eighteen, Mother. I _need_ to see them.”

“You want to go outside? Please, Elizabeth.” Her dark eyes flash with vexation. “You wouldn’t last a day out there. Do you remember what I’ve told you about the Sugarman? The Black Hood?” She looms closer, shadows dancing across her face, and Betty’s lungs constrict with fear. “Those men are out there, waiting to prey on naive little girls like you.”

Every move Penelope makes is graceful as she slides around the room, tugging the blinds shut and cloaking the room in darkness like a snake smothering its prey. “People are cruel and deceitful. They’ll butter you up with sweet words and kind gestures, and once they’ve tricked you into giving them rein over your magic, they’ll throw you away. And the food…” She shudders. “Everything those barbarians eat is so fattening and has no place in your body. You’re still watching your weight, I hope.”

“Yes, Mother.” It’s no more than a murmur, her head hung in embarrassment and indignation. She has innumerable books on all sorts of subjects that portray the world nothing like Mother describes it—which version is a lie?

“Good.” Penelope sighs, cupping her daughter’s face in one hand to lift her gaze. It almost feels like an affectionate gesture. Almost. “You’re safe in here. You know that.”

Betty nods as convincingly as she can, fingers curling into fists to steady herself. “I do.”

And she does. But she doesn’t want safety if it’s stifling, if it means suppression and restraint. She wants to experience the lights soaring overhead, to explore lands far and wide, and to see all there is to see. She wants to be _free_ , if only for a day.

But Mother won’t allow that, it seems.

 _Please_ , she thinks. A little stronger— _Please._

_Please, trust me. Please, let me go._

_Please._

“Clean up for breakfast now, dear,” Penelope says at last. “We can eat together before I make a short trip to the cobbler.” She disappears into her room before Betty can blink. The door slams shut with a note of finality, and Betty’s hope is reduced to embers, dormant and, for now, practically useless.

But the little spark that’s left encourages her. She’ll find a way to convince her mother that she’s ready to face the outside world, ready to chase her dreams. 

She will.

————

Scaling up the side of the palace unnoticed is a lot easier than Jughead Jones had expected. The turret that houses the crown jewels is one of the tallest structures in the whole kingdom, the roof slanted and steep, but the shingles jut out just enough to make decent footholds and handholds. As for the _unnoticed_ part, well, if he’s being honest, Jughead thinks even a five-hundred-pound bear could sneak around the palace and not get caught. Riverdale’s royal guard isn’t exactly known for its competence.

Behind him, two hulking men known as Reggie and Moose are hauling themselves up much less gracefully than Jughead. He’s always been slender and quick-footed, which gives him an edge when sneaking around like this, but it also means that his companions could probably snap him like a twig with their bare hands if they tried. Neither of them is the sharpest knife in the drawer, but having a little muscle is nice when pulling off a scheme as elaborate as this one. He just wishes he didn’t have to share the profits.

Jughead can just barely make out the clip-clop of the guards’ boots below, so he waits several beats for the sound to fade before waving Reggie and Moose forward to continue across the ledge in front of them. According to the blueprints he’s poured over for many nights—don’t ask where he got them—there’s a single roof hatch between them and their target, which Jughead finds wide open. _Idiots_ , he thinks. Because of course Captain Keller and the rest of Riverdale’s utterly incapable royal guards wouldn’t consider the possibility of someone scaling the palace and entering from the roof.

Oh well. Certainly makes his job easier.

Shaking his head ruefully at the thought, Jughead swings himself up onto the edge of the hatch. “Got the rope?” he asks his companions, holding his hand out.

Reggie unhooks the coiled rope from his belt and hands it over. “Here, _boss_ ,” he sneers. Jughead rolls his eyes. Reggie has never been shy about expressing his dislike for Jughead, but he’ll have to put his feelings aside for now. They both know this heist is the greatest one anyone could think to pull off—all three of them will be revered by criminals and despised by everyone else, not to mention very, very rich. After all is said and done, he’ll have enough money to get out of Riverdale for good. 

Plus, it’ll make the Riverdale royal guard look like chumps, which is all the more satisfying. (And not a very difficult task, to be honest.)

With the rope tied firmly around his waist, Jughead is lowered slowly through the roof hatch and into the room, eyeing the guards stationed below as they face the doors on the other side of the room, completely oblivious. _This is almost too easy_ , he thinks, a mix of something like trepidation and elation coursing through him as he inches closer to his prize.

The crown is marvelous, adorned with jewels that sparkle like sunlight on water. The sheer size of the three diamonds in the center almost makes Jughead want to pluck them off and pocket them for later, but he knows the crown in its entirety is way more valuable than anything he’s ever come across. He knows people who would pay anything to get their hands on the crown of Riverdale’s lost princess, and here he is, holding it in his hands.

“Look at that,” Reggie whistles once he and Moose pull Jughead back up onto the roof. The gleam of the jewels is almost hypnotic. “What a steal.”

Jughead rolls his eyes heavily at the pun, but evidently Reggie thinks he’s the funniest guy in the world as he cackles loudly and fist-bumps his buddy. “Shut up,” Jughead hisses. “You’re going to get us caught.”

“Oh, please.” He fixes Jughead with a smug look. “Stop being so paranoid, needlenose. There’s a reason Lodge hired us. We’re the best.”

 _How that can be, I have no idea_ , Jughead wants to retort, but he keeps his mouth shut and slips the crown into the satchel slung over his shoulder. Now that they have the crown, he can only hope they’re able to make their escape equally unnoticed.

And they do manage to skillfully descend the west wall of the castle and slip into the tunnels below without delay, but Jughead knows better than to let his guard down before they’ve truly finished their mission. There will be another legion of guards stationed at the bridge leading to the mainland, and while he’s fully confident in his own abilities, he can only hope that Reggie and Moose can reign in their excitement until there are no more obstacles in their way.

“Man, I can’t wait to get my share of the profits,” Reggie is saying as they turn a corner, and Jughead, in the lead, narrowly avoids running face-first into a massive spider web. “I’ll be rich, and famous too. The ladies will be _all_ over the Mantle. Not that they aren’t already,” he adds with a smirk.

Jughead’s learned to mostly tune out Reggie and his awful third-person commentary, but this time he’s on edge. All the possible ways they can still fail at their mission are running through his head at break-neck speed, and his patience is as thin and delicate as a fraying rope. He bites his tongue against the dozens of possibly aggravating comments threatening to spill out and instead merely rolls his eyes at the characteristic slap of a high five he hears behind him.

Just as he had on their way into the castle earlier this morning, Jughead slowly slides the grate at the mouth of the tunnel aside and waves his partners through. They’re on the outskirts of the city now, the bridge directly ahead, and sure enough, there are several guards stalking the width of the bridge not twenty feet in front of them. 

They’d gotten lucky on the way in—a changing of the guard gave them the chance to sneak their rowboat under the bridge and scale the seawall unnoticed. This time, however, there’s a guard between them and the boat, and they can’t exactly stroll out there and not get arrested on sight—their years of criminal activity in Riverdale have made them the three most recognizable people in the city, maybe even more so than the king and queen.

This time, they’re going to need a hell of a lot more than luck.

“Alright,” Jughead says in a low voice, the three of them still tucked into the shadows. “Here’s what we're going to do.”

—

It’s a simple plan, a good plan, and yet, of course, everything goes to hell.

Admittedly, Jughead thinks as he sprints across the bridge, the guards hot on his heels, that’s a _little_ dramatic. He isn’t behind bars—at least not yet—and neither are his partners. Unfortunately, they’ve been caught red-handed, and he had really been hoping they’d be far, far away by the time anyone even noticed the crown was missing. Now the guards know for sure who committed the theft—which they would have pinned on Jughead and his companions anyway—and they’re gaining on the thieves with every passing second, hoofbeats echoing across the bridge as they mount their horses and take off after Jughead, Moose, and Reggie. 

_Reggie_ , he groans inwardly, gritting his teeth. Of course it was Reggie’s overconfidence that got them caught. Instead of sticking to the plan, Reggie had gotten distracted by a servant girl hauling a basket of sheets and had offered her “ten coins and a kiss” to sneak them across the bridge. Unsurprisingly, this had drawn attention to the three of them, and it was only Jughead’s quick thinking–and quicker feet—that had bought them an escape.

Clutching his satchel tightly, Jughead tries to shake off the thoughts. The adrenaline pumping through his veins spurs him on, and it’s only a matter of minutes before he’s reached the thickly wooded forest of the mainland. After a life of crime, he knows every nook and cranny of these woods like the back of his hand, and it’s not difficult to shake off the guards. Reggie and Moose, however, much to his relief _and_ annoyance, are right behind him.

“You think we lost them?” Moose asks breathlessly. It’s the first time Jughead’s heard him speak all day.

Reggie scoffs, chest puffed. “‘Course we did. See, Jones, my plan worked after all.”

 _What you did was not part of the plan._ My _plan._ “Sure,” Jughead says, the sarcasm clear in his voice. “Because almost getting thrown in the slammer is the mark of a job well done.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Reggie fires back. “You’re just jealous that servant girl was into me and not your pretentious ass.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. _You’re one to talk,_ he grumbles internally. Aloud, though, he says, “Let’s get out of here.” His gaze catches on a wanted poster nailed to a tree on his right, where a poorly drawn rendering of his own face stares back at him. _Seriously?_ “Hiram Lodge is expecting us in—”

The whinny of a horse cuts him off, and all three men whirl around to watch a team of guards and their horses skid to a stop on a ledge not fifty feet away. Leading the pack is Captain Keller himself, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a firm line. He looks about ready to kill—and maybe that’s exactly what he set out here to do.

Too bad Jughead isn’t going to stick around long enough to let that happen.

He bolts, ripping the wanted poster off the tree as he goes and shoving it into his satchel. With Reggie and Moose tailing him, Jughead darts through the thicket, sliding under fallen logs and scrambling across mounds of rocks. The sound of hoofbeats gets quieter with every second, the blood pounding in his ears growing louder—

And then Jughead stops in his tracks, because straight ahead is a massive rock wall surrounding them, easily twenty feet high and wrapping around them on both sides. They can’t retrace their steps now—they’d run right back into the guards—and there’s no obvious way around the towering ledge. The only answer, then, is up.

“Alright,” Jughead says, turning to his companions and schooling his face into neutrality to avoid betraying the plan already forming in his mind. “Give me a boost and I’ll pull you up.”

Reggie’s eyes narrow as he glances at Moose and then back at Jughead. “Give us the satchel first.”

 _Ah._ He clicks his tongue, donning a mildly offended expression. “After all we’ve been through, you don’t trust me?”

“No.”

“Ouch.” But Reggie’s response was what Jughead had been expecting, what he’d been _hoping_ for. He drops the satchel into Reggie’s open hand, and once the bulkier man has the satchel swung over his shoulder, Jughead’s companions boost him up and over the ledge.

Reggie extends a hand toward Jughead. “Now help us up, Jones.”

Jughead smirks, warm leather against his palm. “Sorry,” he replies, holding up the satchel for Reggie and Moose to see, “but my hands are full.” The shock on Reggie’s face spurs him to further taunt, “It’s called subterfuge. Can you spell it?”

“Wha—” He doesn’t give Reggie a chance to finish his response before he pops up from a crouch and bolts, smirk still plastered on his lips as Reggie’s voice echoes behind him: _"Jones!"_

The sound of hoofbeats is audible again, growing stronger now, and Jughead skids onto a well-worn path just as the guards come over the crest of the hill behind him. “There he is!” he hears. “Retrieve that satchel at any cost!”

He ducks under a fallen branch just in time, narrowly avoiding an array of arrows as they lodge themselves into the branch where his body had just been. Barreling through the forest, Jughead weaves between trees in hopes of losing his pursuers, but they’re gaining on him with every passing second, their horses capable of much higher speeds than he is. But he does have one advantage—his smaller size allows him to squeeze through tight spaces, and soon it’s only the (moderately well-trained) captain and his horse on Jughead’s tail.

Blood pumping and legs beginning to protest, Jughead scans his surroundings as best he can for an escape. His heart pounds with every hoofbeat as Keller closes in behind him. Suddenly, the ground angles sharply below him, and he’s tumbling down, down, down. 

When he finally comes to a stop, it takes a beat for his brain to catch up, and then he scrambles to his feet before Keller can reach him. But the captain doesn’t seem to be following him any longer. Jughead catches a glimpse of Keller and his horse, stopped at the top of the hill Jughead had just tumbled down, and relief (as well as a bit of smug, self-satisfied pride) washes over him. _Ha._

Hidden behind a thick bush, Jughead watches Keller’s gaze sweep the landscape, but he doesn’t look nearly as disgruntled as Jughead would expect. Instead, a ghost of a smile flickers across his face, and before Jughead can process what that might mean, he’s being tackled to the ground. 

“What the—” A large, shaggy white dog is atop him, and Jughead’s instincts go into overdrive again as he wiggles out from underneath the furry creature. The dog snaps at the satchel that’s thankfully still hanging at Jughead’s hip, catching it in his jaw. “Let…go…” Jughead grits through his teeth. A growl and a tug and they’re wrestling for the satchel, rolling through the grass in a manner that Jughead would find comical if he weren’t so exasperated.

Jughead rolls over, wincing as a stick pokes him in the back— _wait_. He tugs the stick out from under him and waves it above his head. The dog’s head snaps up instantly, gaze latching onto the stick.

Jughead smirks. The dog may be bizarrely motivated to catch criminals, but he’s still a _dog_. “You want the stick?” Jughead taunts. “Go get it!”

The dog is bounding away within a beat, racing after the stick, and Jughead hops to his feet. Satchel still hanging safely across his body, he ducks behind a curtain of leaves and out of sight. (Really, any thief worth his salt is adept at identifying foolproof hiding spots.)

He’d expected to find himself in the dark, but the cave opens up into a valley. Even more surprising is the tower smack-dab in the middle. It stands about a hundred feet tall, he guesses, with intricate woodworking and vines crawling up the base and—and a dozen other design features he doesn’t give a damn about. All that matters right now is that it’s the perfect place to hide out until the guards give up their search.

It’s a relatively difficult structure to climb, but Jughead’s been scaling walls since before he can remember, so it takes no time at all to swing himself up onto the ledge and in through the window. He can feel the exhaustion now, his heartbeat beginning to slow. Jughead heaves a sigh of relief, popping the satchel open and staring down at the crown.

 _So close_ , he thinks. All he has to do is get the crown to Hiram Lodge and then he’ll have enough money to get the hell out of dodge. No Reggie to weigh him down or share the profits with, no Moose either. And no Captain Keller on his tail. 

He smirks. “Alone at last.”

But he’s not alone, it turns out. The last thing he hears is a _crack,_ accompanied by a searing pain shooting through his skull, and then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, what do you think so far? I hope I’ve captured Betty’s plight as well as her spirit, and that I’ve done Jughead justice. Sorry to any Reggie fans out there—I know I’ve made him pretty insufferable, but I couldn’t think of a better Stabbington brothers duo than Reggie and Moose.
> 
> Feel free to tell me your theories or thoughts on why I chose certain Riverdale characters for certain roles. Comments are my lifeblood and I appreciate all of your observations and feedback!
> 
> Stay tuned for the second chapter, which will be posted as soon as I’ve finished up the third! <3


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